


Sensory Memory

by Aithilin



Series: Fresh Start [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 06:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10735701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: The first fact that Noct had come to accept was that the Astrals were idiots. The second fact was that memory tended to linger in the senses.





	Sensory Memory

The Astrals— Noct had come to realise over the two years since the first new dawn— were idiots. The perseverance of human memory was fickle, but not even the Astrals could contain everything. Noct had learnt, when he first watched the light of recognition fading from his friend’s eyes, that there was some sort of disconnect rather than a full loss of memory. That even if the sight recognition was gone— that Prompto could hold up a picture and compare it to the real man standing before him— the rest of the senses were slower. 

“I knew a Noctis once,” Nyx had said when they met again for the first time. After they had started talking, after Noct had made the decision that this was a connection that he valued enough to push past his own pain— that regaining that little light of recognition in Nyx’s eyes was worth being treated like a stranger. That hearing Nyx talk and joke and flirt, and feeling those hands on him again, was worth the slow fight to overcome a memory of himself.

“What was he like?”

“It’s been over twelve years since I last saw him.”

“Didn’t make much of an impression, then?”

“Don’t…” It was the first time Noct had seen that look of confusion on Nyx, that soft hurt; “Don’t joke about that.”

They had been sitting at the bar, well past closing. Noct having already claimed his bounty in town and Nyx having invited him to stay for a drink and meal. It had become almost a habit for them— the flirting, the ease between them, the early mornings— until it became too much for Noct and he took a new bounty on one of the other islands, or in Cavaugh, or even on the edges of Insomnia’s ruins across the straight. They talked, mostly. Flirted easily. Only once or twice they fell into Nyx’s bed together before admitting that there was something between them that they wanted to keep going. 

Even when he was a kid, Noct hadn’t seen that look of confused hurt on Nyx before. “Sorry.”

“He was…” Nyx started, scraping his memory for more than just sensations. “I wish I could do better by him.”

“You’re doing fine,” Noct muttered, finishing off his drink as quickly as possible. 

He took a hunt in Leide the next day.

Months later Noct started to figure out just what the Astrals had done. Months later— after having finally reached out to Nyx as he wanted to, kissing the man, relearning every part of him and hoping that he could compare with the vague memory of himself that still worked it’s way through Nyx’s mind— Noct understood that it wasn’t a lack of memory of him, it was a disconnect that prevented them from seeing him as he was. That in the heat of the moment, Nyx’s memory could be sparked by a sound, or smell, or taste. That Nyx’s hands still knew what to do to him, that his mouth still sought out the soft points that had him begging.

And despite those little reprieves from the curse of the Astrals, Noct still knew that Nyx was just going to be smug for learning him so quickly. That, to Nyx, it only seemed like a memory coming back fresh. 

He had seen it in Gladio and Prompto after they had left Insomnia, when Prompto started taking pictures in earnest and admitted that he was afraid that something was being taken from him. That his recognition of Noct was seeping from him. Gladio had admitted the same, even though he kept the habit of leaning on Noct like an annoying big brother, of grabbing his arm or shoving his shoulder. 

It took longer for Ignis to forget. Longer for a blind man, who relied on touch and smell and sense and sound, to have something so important to him slip away. It took longer for the instinct, the sense of a person, to be stolen. To take that extra second to recognise a voice or touch.

Noct had made them promise to let him go. 

It was Iggy who told him to go before whatever was happening was complete. That whatever memory he had of them needed to be preserved. That if this strange sense of loss wasn’t affecting him, then Noct did not need to think on his best friends and remember being a stranger to them. 

It took months before meeting up with the hunters to realise that he needed to avoid Insomnia if he was going to stay sane. He needed to avoid the last bastion of Lucian magic if he was going to move on with this newfound life he had. He needed to avoid the heart of the kingdom he had inherited and saved. 

He learnt that he was recognised in Insomnia. That if he stayed close to the heart of the Citadel, his friends would see him. Would know him. He had gone back to try to help rebuild, and Prompto had asked where he’d been for the last while. And he found then that he could let himself be chained to the Citadel and live with his friends tied to him there, or he could leave and live in the kingdom— the world— that he had saved with his death. 

“What made you come here?” Nyx asked once, when this was all still new to him, when they were still dancing around whether or not Noct was overstaying a welcome if he stayed longer than a day. He had asked when they were in the bar, Noct helping with the heavy lifting before opening and Nyx working on repairs for one of the cooling units in the back. “Galahd can’t exactly be a treasure trove for you hunters.”

“It’s enough to get by.”

“Are you running from something?” Noct didn’t miss the smirk— that familiar, playful look; “Because I’m fine with harbouring a criminal.”

Noct grinned, he couldn’t help it, not when Nyx was looking at him like that. “You think I’m a bad boy?”

“Six, no. You’re too much like a puppy,” Nyx went back to his work. “A very dorky puppy.”

There were times— when Noct had finally been invited to stay, to make the little apartment above the bar his home— that Nyx would wrap his arms around him and breathe deep after a long hunt, would smile against his neck and mutter a soft “missed you, little prince.”


End file.
